


What I Cannot Be

by kirri



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Developing Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Midorima is as dense as a neutron star, Mutual Pining, Sappy, Set 15 years-ish after they graduated high-school, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24350302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirri/pseuds/kirri
Summary: As fate apparently insists that they meet again after long years of separation, Midorima and Takao wonder if they are finally brave enough to start what they had no courage to do back then--even if they are now in their thirties, with more baggage around their shoulders than ever.
Relationships: Midorima Shintarou/Original Character(s), Midorima Shintarou/Takao Kazunari
Comments: 42
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

It is spring again; the season of new beginnings.

It is his thirty third spring; the life as he has always known had just ended.

But even though he currently feels that way, Midorima Shintaro has a job to do and a conference to attend. He boards a bullet train to Osaka and finds his reserved seat in the first class car—his face set in an impassive expression that betrays none of his inner turmoil.

He takes off his glasses and massages his nose bridge. He is exhausted. Sometimes he wishes that he could go back to his school days—running around during regular team practice only to continue practicing three point shots until his arms screamed for mercy. Yes, those days were tiring too, but the satisfaction of doing his best helped him to drift into a peaceful sleep each night. He longs for that simplicity, for his days were filled with nothing but his studies and basketball, peppered with occasional hunting for lucky items and the sound of laughter.

There hasn’t been much laughter in his life recently, he has to admit.

He puts his glasses back on and sighs quietly, the sky outside his window begins to darken—he should arrive at Shin-Osaka station around 8 PM, that should be enough time to eat dinner and get a drink.

 _Yes, he definitely needs the drink_ —not too much though; going to work with a hangover would be unbecoming after all.

* * *

Dinner was a quick ramen affair. He has more than enough money to afford a much more luxurious dinner but he really can’t be bothered tonight. Sometimes cheap noodles is what is needed to hit the spot—not the healthiest option surely, but even doctors are allowed to have cheat days, right?

Spring nights are much warmer than winter ones, but even so the air is still rather cold. Midorima fixes his woolen scarf as he exits the busy restaurant and braves the chilly breeze. The streets of Osaka are bustling on a Sunday night and his height attracts unwarranted attention when he least wants it, but the sake bar his colleague recommended is not far from the chain ramen shop and his long legs would take him there quickly enough.

It is located in a two-story building—the bottom floor is an izakaya packed full with happy customers, but the bar on the upper floor is the one he is looking for. The quiet murmurs of slow jazz and whispered conversations are a stark contrast to the noise downstairs. The atmosphere is almost reverent, the patrons worshiping alcoholic beverages but not for the drunkenness it could bring. Midorima has always preferred places like this, he has never been a heavy drinker really—a glass of wine or champagne during formal dinners and celebrations, a pint of craft beer during social gatherings, a cocktail or two during networking events—and a few cups of sake to nurse when he needs to indulge, needs the buzz to escape.

He takes the stool on the far left side on the bar, seven seats in a neat row and they are empty aside from the one on the furthest right—occupied by a man hunching over his drink, longish dark hair shielding his face. Most other patrons seem to prefer the tables littered around the space, conversing quietly as they drink. He pays them no mind and greets the bartender, asking for recommendation.

“Perhaps a tasting of few different ones,” he says in a low voice. The bartender only nods and turns around to pick some variety from his considerable selection. Midorima sits ramrod straight and watches the master at work—only to feel like there is someone else watching at him in turn.

He has never been comfortable with attention. He knows he attracts it regardless, with his height and hair and his penchant for carrying distracting lucky items—honestly, he never means to, he just _does._ He really doesn’t want to attract attention—not tonight when he is in no mood for small talks.

Then again, he is _never_ in the mood for small talks.

He stares resolutely at the sake master’s back, knowing that eye contact only encourages confrontation and he truly, really, does not want to converse with anyone.

But the piercing feeling doesn’t stop and he begins to wonder if there is anything strange about him. He doesn’t think so—he is pretty sure nothing is stuck on his face and the days of lugging cumbersome lucky items around have passed behind him. He couldn’t get them into clinical setting where hygiene and efficiency are a much bigger priority than his selfishness, and he had begrudgingly understood that he _shouldn’t_ anyway. He still checks Oha-asa every morning and still carries small lucky items in his pocket and his bag because old habits are difficult to break, but they are never intrusive and he is no longer as obsessive. 

A minute passed and he still can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

He steals a glance at the right and finds that he recognizes the man who is currently staring at him, slate blue eyes wide open.

“Takao.”

The name falls from Midorima’s lips easily, as if he says it every day—and he did for several years, but it had been years and years ago and no longer.

“Shi—Midorima.”

To his ears, his own last name feels foreign and unfamiliar in Takao’s voice—to his eyes, so does the hesitant smile on Takao’s face.

Moments pass as they stare at each other, unmoving, comparing the man in front of them to the one in their memories.

 _Takao looks well_ , Midorima decides. His hair is slightly longer than it was the last time he saw him and he looks healthy.

“What are you doing here?” Midorima asks.

Takao chuckles; the timbre of it deeper than the laugh Midorima’s hearing was used to.

“I could ask you the same. You don’t even live in this city,” Takao has now fully turned his body towards Midorima, elbow supporting him on the bar as he lazily rests his cheek on his hand.

“As a matter of fact I have a conference to attend here,” answers the taller man primly, “…How are you?” he continues, more hesitantly.

“Well enough,” the dark haired man smiles, “It’s been a while since we last met… Mind if I join you?” he gestures to the empty seat next to Midorima.

Midorima nods, watching in silence as Takao moves towards the seat next to him and orders another cup of sake, the master only responds with a grunt and a thumbs up.

“He’s not much of a conversationalist,” Takao whispers conspiratorially, gesturing at the barkeep and grinning ear-to-ear, “Knows his stuff really well though.”

Midorima doesn’t quite know what to answer, so he keeps his silence and nods yet again.

“How long ago was it the last time we saw each other? Hm… Was it around 3 years ago? At Otsubo-san’s wedding?” Takao continues, paying no mind to his old friend’s lack of response.

“Sounds about right,” the bespectacled man nods curtly at the barkeep as thanks when he serves him a flight of sake. He takes a sip, the taste a welcome distraction.

“Ha. It’s really been that long…?” Takao mumbles, a small smile gracing his lips—it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Midorima can’t decipher the pensive look in the other’s eyes so he goes for bluntness.

“Well, we have our own lives to lead and you have moved here by then.”

Takao’s laugh is dark when he replies, “Of course. You are right, Midorima.”

 _Midorima._ They weren’t even friends back then—they barely knew each other when Takao stopped calling him by his last name and wouldn’t stop calling him with that ridiculous, overtly familiar nickname. But now that he calls him how he was supposed to call him in the first place it feels...

Weird.

Strange.

_Wrong._

“You are not a great conversationalist yourself tonight.”

“I did not come here to talk.”

“Sorry to disturb you then,” a sarcastic smile painted Takao’s lips.

This conversation is not going well at all—Midorima isn’t sure what he is supposed to do to salvage it.

“How is your job Takao?” he asks awkwardly. _A safe topic. A neutral topic._

Takao raises his eyebrow, “It’s going fine. I don’t think you would be interested in hearing about it.”

“As a fellow healthcare professional of course I—“

“Unlike you _Sensei_ , I’m just a nurse,” Takao cuts his sentence midway, emphasizing his title with a wry smile.

“Nurses are the backbone, heart and soul of the healthcare system. I do not think of your profession as less important than mine,” Midorima blurts out bluntly, frowning.

Takao’s laugh sounds more genuine this time, Midorima’s heart beats in approval, but his tongue—

“I do not understand what is funny.”

Takao takes a sip of his sake, but when he speaks again his smile is a little warmer, a little friendlier, a little more familiar.

“You never change. Never mind. So… a conference eh? Is it the pediatric cardiology one?”

“Yes.”

 _‘How do you know about it?’_ is implied in the slight furrow of Midorima’s brows and never said, but Takao was good at deciphering what Midorima didn’t say—and apparently he still is quite good at it.

“A couple doctors from the hospital I work at will be going too,” the dark haired man explains, taking another sip from his cup before continuing, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the polished wooden bar.

“I work at the pediatric ward mainly.”

“You have always been good with children,” the taller man replies matter of factly, because it wasn't a compliment but rather the plain truth.

The look on Takao’s almond-shaped eyes softens, “I guess... I mean, I would hope so. I am a pediatric nurse after all, would be bad if I can’t handle children right,” he chuckled.

Midorima nods—again, not quite sure of what to say. Years have passed since the last time they conversed properly and he is starting to feel like he doesn’t know this Takao. This Takao who calls him Midorima, whose smile is guarded and whose eyes are clouded—there is a icy feeling that courses through his veins at the thought.

“…Speaking of children… How’s your son?” Takao asks suddenly, breezily, his expression betrays nothing but a perfectly polite curiosity

And even though Midorima is slightly taken aback at the change of topic, he quickly schools his face into a stoic politeness.

“Ryohei is fine. Thank you.”

“How old is he now?”

“He turned two a couple months ago.”

“Ah… The terrible two,” Takao laughs softly, “Children grow up so quickly, I hope you cherish your time with him,” his smile is sincere and tone wistful.

Once again, Midorima does not quite know what to say to that.

“I do—I try to,” he mumbles.

“Of course you do,” Takao’s smile is gentle, “I know you always do your best,” he pats the taller man’s shoulder comfortingly and it burns—what used to be a familiar gesture has now been rendered alien.

Midorima doesn’t notice that Takao has stolen glance at his left hand—at the gold band on his ring finger, before asking lightly “…And how about your wife?”

Midorima thinks back to the events of this morning and wishes that the ground would open and just swallow him whole.

* * *

“Shintaro-san, we should get a divorce.”

It was said so nonchalantly Shintaro first thought he heard it wrongly. Had he been a lesser man, he would have choked over his food—but he properly chewed and swallowed his breakfast before speaking.

“Excuse me?”

She sighed, wiping their son’s mouth tenderly. The little boy was making a mess with his carrot puree.

“You heard me. We should get divorced,” she repeated patiently, her smile was gentle when she rubbed the toddler’s cheek.

“Why?” he asked, taking a sip from his coffee, “What did I do?”

“You did nothing,” she coaxed Ryouhei into taking another bite of his food, “Nothing wrong at all.”

“Then why…?” he dipped a spoon into his oshiruko, staring at his wife who was busy with their son. His son giggled as she kissed his chubby cheeks and Shintaro couldn’t help but to smile at him even in the midst of his own confusion.

“Shintaro-san, tell me honestly…” she looked at him in the eyes levelly, calm and unwavering, “Do you love me?”

She told him not to lie, so he didn’t.

“I could learn to.”

She shook her head and smiled sadly at him.

“Remind me, how long have we been married?”

“It would be 5 years in June.”

They had gotten married in early summer, on a perfectly sunny and lucky day for both Cancer and Pisces. He could recall the early blooming hydrangea, clear blue sky with wisps of white cloud and cold determination.

His wife smiled wider, seemingly pleased that he remembered.

“That’s correct,” she carried Ryouhei and took a seat at the chair across her husband. The baby wiggled happily on her lap, trying to catch his father’s attention.

“If after nearly 5 years of marriage you still have yet to fall in love with me, when do you think would it happen? If it would happen at all?”

He couldn’t answer.

“Shintaro-san,” her tone was resigned, “Please answer me. Truthfully.”

He couldn’t, didn't want to answer—so he asked her a question of his own.

“Are you unhappy with me?”

She chuckled without humor. Ryouhei grinned at the sound and reached up to hug her.

“Shintaro-san, you are a good husband,” she answered airily, “You strive to do everything a good husband would do, all to the best of your ability. Even though you are busy at work but you always make time for Ryouhei and I. I wouldn’t say that I’m unhappy witnessing all of your effort. I would say that I’m quite content, actually.”

“Then why—“

“I don’t want content. I don’t want to just continue going through the motion like this. I could—but I don’t want to.”

Shintaro sat perfectly still, stunned by her answer.

“You are a good person, a good husband. You have treated me well, diligently catering to what I need—what we need,” she glanced at her son fondly; he started playing with her fingers.

“But I don’t want to keep becoming your second full-time job.”

“What do you mean?”

She took a deep breath, running her hand on Ryouhei’s soft dark hair gently—the action calming her as much as it calmed the baby.

“You can’t be yourself with me. You can’t let go of that perfect control over yourself when you are with me.“

He couldn't deny it.

“But haven't I done everything correctly?”

She nodded, long black hair gently falling, following the motion—steely brown eyes looking straight at his when she answered:

“You have done what you needed to do, Shintaro-san. Perfectly. Meticulously. Dutifully. You have done nothing wrong at all, you have been ticking all the boxes with perfect checkmarks... But maybe that is the problem."

She took a long, deep breath.

"Tell me, Shintaro-san, is this what you really want to do for the rest of your life?”

* * *

“She is well,” Midorima answers, face tight in polite smile.

Takao stares and wonders when and why Midorima learnt to fake a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

It is spring; the season of new beginnings.

The little girl who passed away this morning was supposed to start elementary school next month.

Some kids have stomach bug, they would recover in a week or two with rest and proper care. Some kids break their bones, it would take a while but they would be fine eventually. Some kids…Well, some kids would never be able to leave the hospital alive.

Takao understands that life is unfair and accepts it, but it doesn’t make it less hard. It’s his job to care for unwell children, making them as comfortable as possible—supporting them even when they are dying. He makes it his mission to try and make them enjoy their short lives as much as possible, lessen their pain. He isn’t always successful, but he always does his damn hardest.

He can't help everyone, no matter how much effort he puts in. 

And today he is exhausted—witnessing death is never easy regardless how old the departed is, but watching tiny bodies wither away is harder to stomach. They should have lived so much longer, enjoying all life potentially has to offer.

_Well_ —Takao thinks as he walks dejectedly to the staff's locker room after the end of a long and depressing shift—there is no good in wallowing in depression when he needs to keep his head cool and his heart calm to help another child another day. There should be no harm, however, in getting a drink or two tonight.

Or maybe… Maybe even a smoke. Just one cigarette—Takao doesn’t make smoking a habit after trying it for the first time in his last year of university, but he finds that it hits the spot when he’s stressed.

For once, he doesn’t have the night shift tonight. This happens very rarely—he is a relatively young man and unmarried one at that, so the less savory shift has always been dumped on him.

_He really needs to unwind_ , he realizes as he massages the crick at the back of his neck while saying a cheerful goodbye to a colleague—so he shall indulge in a smoke and drinks tonight.

He even has time to visit his favorite sake bar this time.

* * *

He greets the bartender with a silent wave when he enters the premises. The stocky man nods but otherwise does not acknowledge him—Takao likes it that way. He loves people—takes to making friends like a duck to water—but sometimes he needs to be alone with good quality alcohol and his own thoughts. Unlike the other places he frequents, the guy behind this particular bar almost never talks—he reminds him of Seirin’s second center actually, just much less friendlier.

“The usual please,” he orders with a bright grin as he claims his favorite stool at the rightmost end of the bar. The bartender raises a questioning eyebrow at his overly cheery voice, but goes to work instantly.

Takao checks his phone while waiting for his drink—there is no emergency message from work, thankfully. There is a message from Kise though, asking him if he wants to meet for a drink when the blonde comes to Osaka for work in a couple weeks. Takao replies with a tentative affirmation, his availability rests solely on the shift schedule after all. The blonde must be on break because his reply comes pretty much instantly, with way too many kaomojis appropriate for a thirty-something year old man, Takao rolls his eyes fondly at the message and thanks the master when a cup of sake and a plate of small dishes are placed in front of him.

No one told Takao that out of all the weird people he met at high school that Kise would be the one he keeps in regular contact with, even until now. He would never guess it himself, but they actually get along really well—perhaps even better than he and his old teammate ever did.

Takao thinks that Kise is interesting in a completely opposite way from Midorima—the latter’s sharp tongue and cold demeanor hides a shy person with a kind and caring heart, but the former’s sparkling brightness, puppy eyes and crocodile tears hides coldness and apathy for most people outside of a select few. Even so, Takao likes the Kise who has long shed his mask and has now let his judgmental personality shines in front of him—the blonde truly has the most entertaining stories and juiciest gossips from the entertainment industry.

He and Kise keep texting back and forth about nothing and everything while he nurses his cup of sake, his hair is getting a little bit too long and it shields his face when he hunches over his phone and drink. He grins as he follows the story Kise is in the middle of telling him, dramatized with plenty of emoticons, about the time the model witnessed a popular and innocent-looking idol’s bitchy attitude at a filming of a variety show. Then, suddenly, Takao hears a very familiar deep voice from the seat on his far left and he freezes when he confirms who that voice belongs to.

That voice, those hair, that height, those emerald eyes framed with long lashes hidden by a pair of glasses, and that permanently stern expression—well, there’s certainly no mistaking one Midorima Shintaro.

Takao cannot move, cannot talk—he can only stare.

It has been almost 3 years since the last time he saw Midorima at Otsubo-san’s wedding and they barely talked then—Midorima stuck by his pregnant wife’s side while Takao spent most of the party chatting with Miyaji brothers. The taller man left the party early too, understandably, and they didn’t even say goodbye to each other.

He realizes that Midorima has noticed that somebody is staring at him. The tall man is too easy to read—the stiffness of his back, the stubborn way he focuses his eyes on the barkeeper’s back. Takao almost giggles at how easy it is still for him to read Midorima—almost, but doesn’t, in favor for fixing his eyes at the other’s profile.

“Takao.”

Midorima has finally given up pretending not to notice and looks back at him.

“Shi—Midorima,” Takao lets an easy smile slip into his lips, cursing at himself inwardly when he almost calls the older man with his old nickname.

* * *

It is difficult now, talking with Midorima—Takao realizes this with some kind of dread.

Back then it was almost too easy, like breathing in crisp air, teasing Midorima and laughing fondly at his ridiculousness like a second nature.

_How is it possible_ , he wonders. How is it possible that someone whom he used to spend almost all of his waking hours with, for all 3 years of high school, has now become a stranger—but, here he is.

Here they are.

He lets his naturally cheerful disposition take over but it’s too hard to hide the bitter edges that have since put its mark on him.

* * *

Midorima is the way he has always been, stiff and awkward, guarded but blunt— _endearing_ , a voice in the back of Takao’s mind speaks, a voice he instantly silences and forgets.

Takao changes the topic into something that reminds him of how different the circumstances they are in now—how different the current Midorima is from the one in his memories. Warmth blooms in his chest when he reads the gentle fondness in Midorima’s eyes when he answers the question about his son, using it to mask the persistent discomfort in the pit of his stomach.

Takao starts to wonder how Midorima’s son, _Ryohei_ , looks like—if he inherits his father’s coloring, the pale unblemished skin and the green hair and the emerald eyes. Midorima’s wife has dark hair, common and not unlike his own, and brown eyes. If he recalls correctly that is—he doesn’t make it a habit thinking of an old friend’s wife no matter whether it’s Otsubo’s or Kimura’s or Midorima’s.

But the train of thought is hard to stop when it gets going—he stole a glance at Midorima’s left hand, at the long slender fingers seemingly naked without taping, and focuses on the golden band circling his ring finger.

“…And how about your wife?” he asks before he could stop himself.

Midorima doesn’t answer instantly—Takao notes the faraway look clouding his eyes and the twisting of the corner of his lips into a polite but undoubtedly fake smile.

“She is well,” Midorima’s deep voice jolts Takao out of his astonishment from discovering this new skill of his old friend.

The Midorima he knew never had to display fake smiles—he didn’t smile often, but when he did and he barely ever did, all those small smiles were genuine. Takao used to treasure those rare smiles, the proof of his persistence and effort at befriending and caring for the stoic miracle. Perhaps this new skill was developed to improve his bedside manner or to schmooze during networking events—Takao observes and ponders.

Takao decides that he likes Midorima’s usual austere face better—he even likes his scowls and frowns better. But of course, he has no right to dictate what kind of face the other wears.

_‘This isn’t you.’_

Takao wants to say, but doesn’t—because maybe this _is_ Midorima. This is the adult Midorima who has learnt some social graces, as painfully fake as it is—this is Midorima Shintaro: the surgeon, the husband, the father. Maybe this is not the completely selfish, completely tsundere, completely spoiled Shin-chan whom Takao used to know—not _his_ Shin-chan—but just because Takao doesn’t know who this man is, it doesn’t mean that this man is not Midorima.

Besides, Takao has let his Shin-chan go—on that day almost 15 years ago, when the words he left unsaid died on his tongue under the blooming cherry blossoms.

Takao smiles. He really needs that cigarette—this day is proving to be worse than he thought it was, maybe he will get two instead of just one.

“That’s good!” he says cheerfully—then silence, as they both take sips of sake.

He doesn’t know what else to say, what else to do. Takao downs the rest of his drink in a single gulp.

He knows that he wants to leave—so he does just that. Years and years of not meeting his old team mate alone, just the two of them, and Takao escapes after 5 minutes of barely talking—he chides himself for being pathetic.

“I have to go now. It’s nice meeting you,” he stands up and takes a few bills out of his wallet—perks of being a regular, he knows exactly how much his order costs.

Midorima looks up from his drink to look at him instead, eyes widened in surprise.

“Early shift tomorrow morning, you know how it is,” Takao grins.

“A-ah. I see,” Midorima forces another fake polite smile.

“Bye now, Midorima,” Takao widens his grin to the point it’s almost painful.

The bartender merely glances at him when he pays and says his goodbyes—judging, knowing that Takao is leaving way too early than he usually would, but otherwise saying nothing.

“T-Takao,” a hesitant voice calls out to him.

“Hm?”

The way Midorima is looking at him reminds him of the way he looked at him on the day of their graduation from high school—fists clenched, eyes unsure, tongue tied. And just like it was on that day, Takao doesn’t stop smiling—smiling doesn't make anything hurt less, but he can pretend.

“I—“

_What does he want to say_ , Takao wonders, patiently waiting.

Midorima’s eyes dim and he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.

“Hn. Take care.”

Ah, déjà vu—maybe neither of them has changed after all. Still cowards—still afraid of losing what they cannot lose, still afraid of getting what they cannot get. Or maybe he is just presumptuous, maybe he is the only one still secretly running in circles, maybe Midorima no longer has anything else to say—after all, he has even more to lose now than then. 

“You too.”

He sees Midorima’s small nod before turning his back and all but runs away from the bar. He doesn’t stop and doesn’t slow his pace until he reaches a corner store and buys a pack of cigarette from a sleepy-looking uncle.

He lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag—the sudden inhale of smoke causes him to cough. Whether the pain in his chest is physical or metaphorical, he doesn’t know—the lines have blurred and he is thankful for the excuse.

“Well,” he laughs, breathless, “Fuck.”

The poets did say that first love is often the most painful one—but no one told Takao it would still hurt now, over a decade after he let it go.

He takes another cigarette from the pack after he finishes the first one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is going to be very slow moving, to say the least.  
> Thank you for reading and I always welcome criticism and advice (also gushing about oot takamido/midotaka is welcome too)!


	3. Chapter 3

Midorima stares at Takao retreating back with fists clenched.

Words, it seems, always elude him when it comes to Takao—not all words, strangely, just the important ones. But then again, he looks down at his half-empty cup of sake, he doesn’t quite know what he wanted to convey at the first place.

There are so many things he wants to ask Takao—all the questions he has put in the back of his mind and forget as he goes through his daily life. All those questions rushed back when he called out to his old friend: _‘Are you happy?’_ is the first one and the foremost. However, there was no way to ask that without making the atmosphere more awkward that it already was.

For as long as he has known Takao, the younger man has always been smiling—the only times he couldn’t was when he was frustrated when they lost a basketball match, but even then he bounced back quickly. Takao smiles and grins and beams and smirks and Midorima catalogues everything precisely, storing it in the hidden recesses of his mind—but nothing matches the last smile Takao showed him tonight.

But maybe that’s a lie—he has seen that smile once before, when cherry blossom petals were falling on their hair.

 _‘Why are you not laughing?’_ He wanted to ask. It’s okay even if the laughter is in his expense—like when he was stressed out the time he couldn’t find his lucky item, or when he had to carry the ridiculous-looking or very heavy ones everywhere, or each time Takao imitated his voice and accent—Takao laughed and laughed at the absurdity of it all. But even though it irritated him, even though he snapped at Takao countless times, he couldn’t bring himself to dislike the noise of that hysterical laughter.

Because at the end Takao helped him hunt for his lucky items, helped him to carry them in their rear cart—because Takao stuck by his side even though he was being difficult, talked to him when nobody would, understood him in the way nobody could.

Because that is just the way Takao is, laughing through life with all of his might—full belly laugh, hands on his stomach as the joy leaves him breathless. His laughs are always loud and always exuberant, the way Midorima is not—the way he cannot be.

Midorima doesn’t realize just how much he has been missing that laugh—how quiet his life has been since the sound disappeared.

He wonders if somebody is making Takao happy—he hopes so.

He hopes that somebody is making Takao laugh heartily, freely—he tells himself that it is okay even if he can’t hear it.

Still, he wonders if he could ever hear that laugh again in his lifetime.

Midorima finishes his sake, but apparently the buzz is not strong enough to let him escape his thoughts tonight.

* * *

The 3-day conference went well—if he says so himself. Midorima learnt the latest advancements in surgical techniques and promising development of new medicine and method of diagnosis. He has to admit though, the networking event, while useful, has left him totally drained.

He wants to do nothing but sleep until the next weekend, but he can’t, obviously—he has appointments with patients all week and a minor surgery scheduled the day after tomorrow, of course there is also _that other_ thing he has to take care of—he grimaces.

Despite successfully forgetting his wife’s request for divorce while he was working, the remembrance is now coming back to him in waves. Honestly he is rather afraid that his house in Tokyo would have already been emptied by the time he goes back from Osaka—his wife and son already gone.

 _But Miyuki-san isn’t like that_ , he assures himself. His wife is four years older than him, mature and isn’t prone to rash decisions.

But what does he know—he never even once expected that she would ask him for divorce, just shows how little he knows.

But she never seemed to look unhappy and she _did_ say that she wasn’t unhappy. Midorima may have never learnt to love her but he likes her well enough to marry her.

It was an _omiai,_ an arranged marriage orchestrated by both of their parents—she was the daughter of his father’s old colleague. Apparently his parents were fed up that he was basically married to his job without any sign of seeking a romantic relationship on his own, so they took it to themselves to find a suitable partner for him. Her parents wanted to marry her off because she was past 30 years old—an archaic mindset in Midorima’s opinion, but he held his tongue in front of his in-laws.

It all happened very quickly too—they got engaged just a couple months after they first met and the wedding followed soon after, all within the span of a year.

From the first introduction to the betrothal ceremony, from the wedding to their daily life as a married couple, he thinks that he has done everything he was expected to do and was confident that he has done his role well—he was honestly blindsided by the sudden divorce request.

He doesn’t like making mistakes and likes it even less that he does not know what went wrong and how to fix it.

Midorima arrives at Tokyo station just in time for the evening rush hour and the mass of people he has to encounter only manages to worsen his mood. He speed walks through the crowd towards the taxi stand because he definitely is not going to squeeze himself into an over packed train to go home this evening—he is too tired for that.

A flower shop near the entrance of the station catches his eye—he suddenly stops walking and a harassed-looking office worker bumps into the solid wall of his back, muttering curses as he stumbles over Midorima’s small carry-on and maneuvers around the much taller man. The doctor sends him a glare and hesitantly walks towards the shop.

“Good evening,” the florist greets Midorima timidly—the way Midorima is practically glaring at the flowers, combined with his built and generally standoffish demeanor, makes him plenty intimidating.

“Good evening,” he replies as pleasantly as he can muster in his foul mood—which is to say, not at all that pleasant, but polite enough.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asks, smiling weakly.

“Just a bouquet please.”

“Certainly sir. Which flowers and what size? We have premade bouquets, but I can also arrange one for you.”

“Uh.”

 _Women usually like flowers, right?_ He impulsively thought of buying flowers as an attempt to patch things up—maybe he can persuade Miyuki-san that divorce is a bad idea. Truth be told, no matter how much the thinks over it, he still doesn’t fully understand what is going on—but he needs to try to salvage this mess, he owes it to Ryohei at the very least. And so, buying flowers— _that’s what men usually do when their significant others are upset right?_

“Sir?” she prompts with a worried look after he blanked on her question.

“A-ah. Uh. I—Roses?”

_Roses are popular right? Doesn’t everyone like roses?_

“Sure, which color? Or perhaps you want a mix?”

“Uh…” he glances at the bunches of roses in various colors, they look beautiful—but red reminds him too much of Akashi and Kagami’s hair, yellow of Kise’s, the shades of pink and purple reminds him of Yosen’s uniform and Murasakibara, orange is Shutoku’s color and it reminds him of—

“White, please.”

“Just white?”

“Yes. And the bouquet size… Uh. Is this enough?” he hands her a five-thousand yen note.

“Certainly, sir! Please wait a moment,” the lady seems to perk up.

“Oh. Thank you,” he stands awkwardly as she starts selecting stems of white roses and arranges them into a neat bouquet, expertly wrapping them in a soft green tissue paper, twine and white ribbon.

“Here you go, sir. Thank you for the purchase,” she gives him the finished bouquet and bows.

“Thank you,” he bows slightly and leaves, clutching the bouquet on his left hand and dragging his small luggage on his right.

* * *

“I’m home,” Shintaro says as he takes off his shoes at the entryway. He nervously waits for an answer while arranging the shoes neatly on the shoe cupboard.

“Welcome home,” his wife answers, walking from the living room towards him with Ryohei in her arms. The boy too, greets him with an excited “Welcome home!!”

“Ryohei,” Shintaro smiles gently at his son, who is trying to reach up to him, “Come here,” he takes the boy into arms. Ryohei snuggles into his shoulder, yawning.

“Sleepy,” he mumbles, burrowing his face into the crook of Shintaro’s neck.

“Were you waiting for Papa to come home? I apologize for coming home late, but thank you for waiting,” Shintaro pats his son’s head tenderly.

“Mmm. I miss Papa,” he smiles, small hands clutching on Shintaro’s coat.

“Me too,” the father kisses his little boy’s cheek, “Now, let’s get you to bed. Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

“Yes please.”

“Alright, what story do you want?”

“Mmmm… Kerosuke.”

“Kerosuke it is.”

He carries Ryohei to his bedroom and the boy falls asleep in his arms, breathing peacefully—Kerosuke must wait another night for his story to be told it seems.

The tall man sighs fondly and tucks his son into the bed, kissing his forehead and whispering goodnight. His wife watches them over from the bedroom’s door, smiling.

“Ryohei has been missing his father so much. He didn’t want to take a nap this afternoon because he knew you were coming back today and he didn’t want to miss it. That’s why he fell asleep so quickly.”

“He’s such a sweet child,” Shintaro caresses Ryohei’s soft dark hair, “Sometimes it’s hard to believe that such an affectionate child is mine.”

“You are an affectionate father, Shintaro-san.”

“I do my best—it doesn’t come naturally to me.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is—Ah. I have something for you Miyuki-san,” he bends and kisses Ryohei on the forehead before moving to exit the child’s bedroom, suddenly remembering the bouquet of flowers he left on the top of the shoe cupboard.

“The roses?” his wife asks as he closes the door softly behind him, “I have already put them in the vase on the dining table. They are wonderful. Thank you.”

Shintaro nods, “You are welcome,” he pauses before beginning to speak again, nervously, “Miyuki-san, we need to talk.”

“That we do,” she agrees, brown eyes appraising him, “Take a shower first. You must be tired. I will warm up your dinner and let’s talk while you eat.”

* * *

A bowl of rice and a plate of grilled salmon and vegetable side dishes have been prepared for him when he enters the dining room. Miyuki-san is already seated on her usual chair, staring at the vase containing the bouquet of white roses in front of her, seemingly deep in thoughts. She greets him with a mild smile when he sits on his chair and gestures at the food she has prepared, “I’ve already warmed them up, please enjoy.”

“Thank you for the meal,” he picks up the chopsticks and begins to eat.

“I have already printed the divorce papers, please look at them when you have time,” Miyuki-san says after watching him taking a few bites of the food.

Shintaro’s hands still—he puts the chopsticks back down on top of its rest.

“Miyuki-san, is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

She sighs, “I’m afraid not.”

“I still don’t understand why you suddenly want a divorce. Miyuki-san, please tell me what I can do to preserve the marriage, I will do the utmost possible to fix whatever problem it is.”

“The problem was that we agreed to get married in the first place,” she replies, not unkindly.

“But we have been married for almost 5 years and you have never told me that there was anything that dissatisfies you. Was there anything thoughtless I did recently that prompted this? “

“I have told you multiple times, it’s not anything you did—rather maybe, it’s what you don’t do.”

“What I don’t do?” Shintaro frowns, “Like cooking?”

His wife laughs softly, “No. No. It’s nothing like that. It’s not housework either,” she quickly adds when Shintaro begins to open his mouth to talk—he clamps his mouth shut.

“You are not a messy person anyway. You often do the dishes, clean your own office and do your own laundry. I have told you Shintaro-san, you do nothing wrong in your duties.”

“Then what is it? Do I not care for your needs enough? Things like flowers, gifts and dates? I can try to do better.”

“No. You have done enough, it’s just…” she takes a deep breath, “I can’t live like this anymore.”

“But wh—“

“Please let me continue first,” she says, interrupting whatever it was Shintaro wanted to say.

“I am not exactly unhappy with this kind of life Shintaro-san,” her brown eyes convey her sincerity.

“All things considered, I have been lucky that you were the one my parents chose to be my husband. Throughout everything you have been nothing but considerate. But I don’t—How to say this. Between us there’s no passion or love—just duty. We got married because our parents wanted us to and I, in particular, was really pressured because of my age. But we have done our duty, haven’t we? We got married. We had a child. I can be content with this kind of life, but I don’t want that—I want more.”

“If I—“

“Let’s stop living like this, the both of us—our contentment is nothing but complacency and I know that you will never be truly happy with me. We have done everything we needed to do. Let’s start doing what we _want_ to do.”

 _But what does Shintaro want to do?_ He can feel Miyuki’s san eyes bore into him as he contemplates what she said in silence. He doesn’t know what he wants to do anymore—he has been following the course that has been set for him.

“What do you want to do, Miyuki-san?” he asks instead.

“Going back into practice again—honestly, being a housewife bores me. I don’t want to go back to the high pressure atmosphere of a big hospital though, a small neighborhood clinic would be nice—I will have enough time for Ryohei that way. Preferably somewhere quieter—in the suburbs perhaps,” she explains, more animatedly that he has even seen her be.

“I apologize, I didn’t know you want to go back to work.”

She waves her hand dismissively, “It’s not your fault. It was what was expected of me when I got married—to leave my career and take care of the house. It’s not like you have ever forbidden me to do anything. I have never asked your opinion on it either. I thought I could live like this, but I guess I can’t after all,” she shrugs, completely relaxed.

Shintaro also thought that he could live this way—he still thinks he can, but obviously Miyuki-san doesn’t want to and he respects that. However, more than anything what he is afraid of is…

“You know Shintaro-san…”

“Hm?” he blinked owlishly—her voice startled him out of his thoughts.

“I was thinking,” she stares at the white roses wistfully and smiles, “You gave me white roses, but don’t they suit you more instead?

“Me?” he knits his brows, glancing at the pure white petals, “How so?”

“Do you know what _hanakotoba_ is, Shintaro-san?”

“The language of flowers?” he confirms, she nods, “I might have heard of it, but I am not familiar with it, I am afraid.”

“Well, white rose symbolizes innocence, devotion and silence.”

“I don’t understand,” he stares at her, completely confused, “How do they suit me?”

“The devotion is self-explanatory I think. You are devoted to your work, and to Ryohei and to me too, throughout our marriage—I am thankful for that.”

“One must do everything possible in his power to succeed.”

“And that single minded devotion is the proof of your innocence I think,” she chuckles.

Shintaro’s blank stare indicates that this conversation has completely gone over his head.

“And… Well. You don’t talk much.”

“I have been told that I nag too much,” he recalls the amount of time his old teammates have complained about this.

“Oh,” she looks surprised at that, “You have never shown that side of you at all,” Shintaro-san has always been gracious towards her—he doesn’t talk much, doesn’t complain at all.

“I try my best not to,” he admits, “I have been told that my personality is downright displeasing that if I don’t want to become a divorcee in record time that I better try to curtail it,” he sniffs, offended—his so-called friends said that they were giving him ‘helpful advice’ but Shintaro still thinks that they were just insulting him.

“Well,” she still looks rather stunned, “I feel like I have learnt more about you in the last minute than I have in the past 5 years.”

“And yet their stupid advice doesn’t do anything for me apparently,” he mumbles, glaring intensely at a piece of broccoli.

She laughs at that. Her decision has been correct—this separation will free Shintaro as much as it will free her. They may not make it as couple, but she thinks that they can learn to start being friends.

He picks up the chopstick and starts to pick on the salmon before stalling once again, “Uh… About Ryohei…”

“Ah. Of course that’s what you are most worried about,” she smiles gently.

“Yes.”

There’s no use denying it, after listening to what Miyuki-san said Shintaro understands that nothing he says or does can change her mind.

“I understand why you are concerned, child custody law in this country certainly does not favor fathers.”

He nods, long fingers trembling on the table—he likes Miyuki-san, but he can manage without her. Ryohei on the other hand—he clenches his fists so hard his knuckles are turning white—he doesn’t know what to do if he loses Ryohei.

“But don’t worry, we will make it work. I am not going to rob him of his father—he loves you very much and I know you love him very much as well. You have my word.”

Shintaro finally manages to breathe a sigh of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Midorima and Takao interaction in this one (and in the next chapter too tbh) but they need to clean some things up before they can move on. Thank you for reading and giving this fic a chance! I am not a very good writer and this is my first KnB fanfic, so advice and constructive criticism are welcome!


	4. Chapter 4

Around two weeks after his accidental meeting with Midorima, Takao enters an upscale izakaya to meet another one of Generation of Miracles.

He greets the hostess with a charming smile and gives the name for which the reservation was booked under, Kise’s manager’s, and is shown to a private room. Kise has texted him and told him that he would be 10 to 20 minutes late—well, that’s par for the course and Takao doesn’t mind waiting.

He starts by ordering a glass of beer and waits for Kise while playing games on his phone—he’s actually really quite good at them.

* * *

His glass has already been half-emptied by the time Kise enters in a flurry of apologies and tackles him into a hug—thank goodness the private room uses traditional floor seating arrangement and not the usual table seating—it won’t be fun going to the hospital he works at with a concussion.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Kise cries and sits across Takao before launching himself into a rant about difficult photographers and indecisive stylists.

Takao listens to Kise’s dramatics with an amused smile—hearing him talk without mincing his words is seriously entertaining.

“Calm down,” Takao laughs, ruffling the taller man’s hair and getting rewarded with a pout, “Order some drinks and food first, I’m hungry as hell.”

“It’s seriously annoying,” Kise whines, “The only thing that kept me going was knowing that I get to meet you after work Takaocchi!” he bats his long eyelashes.

“My, I’m flattered that Mr. Handsome Model Kise Ryouta is that invested in his relationship with me,” Takao smirks seductively, leaning towards Kise across the table.

“Takaocchi knows how committed I am to you,” Kise flirts back, chin propped by his intertwined hands, eyes half-lidded.

“Oi!”

Kise’s manager, Yamada, interrupts from just outside the sliding door.

“Stop acting like fools, what if people see and get the wrong idea?” he scolds, rising panic in his voice.

Both men laugh at him, Kise reaches for Takao’s hand and holds it.

“Aww, but I don’t mind people knowing how in love I am with Takaocchi.”

“Kise-san, quit it. Takao-san, please stop encouraging him,” Yamada says through gritted teeth when he sees Takao intertwines their fingers together—huffing when Takao just laughs at him.

“Okay okay, stop looking like you are going to get a heart attack, jeez,” Kise says, showing off a blinding grin. He lets go of Takao’s hand and starts flipping through the menu, “Can you order food and drinks for us please? What do you want Takaocchi?” he asks, before starting to order a bunch of different things.

“We will behave ourselves!” Takao calls out cheerfully after telling the manager his own order. Yamada closes the sliding door none too gently, muttering complaints under his breath.

“Man, he’s so paranoid,” Kise chuckles.

“He’s so fun to tease, his reaction makes it funnier,” Takao agrees, it reminds him of Midorima a little—he tries to squash the thought but isn’t completely successful, everything reminds him of Midorima these days, ever since he met him again recently.

“Why did he check on us anyway?...Oh, he’s back,” Kise says as Yamada opens the sliding door again.

“You forgot this in the van, Kise-san,” he says, handing Kise a white envelope.

“Oh yeah! Thanks Yamada-kun.”

“What’s that?” Takao asks, peering curiously at the envelope.

“Kasamatsu-san’s wedding invitation. It’s for you actually,” Kise answers, giving the envelope to Takao—indeed it was addressed to ‘Takao Kazunari’.

“Ohhh. Kasamatsu-san is getting married? Eh. Why are you the one delivering my invitation though?”

Takao opens the envelope and takes out a pristine white invitation with blue accents and gold lettering bearing Kasamatsu-san and his bride’s name along with details on the date and venue, and a separate RSVP postcard for him to send back.

“Ah Kaijo guys met for drinks a few days ago and he brought invitations for all of us. He asked me if you still lived in Osaka, apparently he didn’t want to burden you with an invitation if so—I told him you would probably have moved back to Tokyo by the time he’s having his wedding. Eh, that’s okay right? That I told him you are moving back?” Kise bites his lower lip, unsure.

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s a secret or anything,” Takao assures him, waving his hand dismissively, thinking he should invite Kasamatsu-san for a drink or a meal when he moves back to Tokyo—it’s so nice of the older man to still invite him to his wedding even though they don’t talk that often.

“Ah okay. So he asked me for your address and I told him that I would be meeting you soon and I could just deliver the invitation if he wanted me to,” Kise finishes then steals a gulp of beer from Takao’s glass.

“Thief,” Takao teases, but he lets Kise finishes the rest of the beer.

Takao takes another look at the invitation— _so even Kasamatsu-san,_ _who couldn’t speak to women at all, is getting married huh?_

He verbalizes that thought to Kise, who shrugs.

“He said that his fiancée was the first women outside his family whom he could actually talk to. Isn’t that sweet though? He is so in love with her and he kept blushing when he talked about her,” Kise swoons, “It was so cute. I’m so happy for him!”

“Wah how nice~ I’m happy for him too! I wanna see him and the bride together so I will make sure to attend the wedding,” Takao smiles fondly.

Love, huh? How nice it is that there are people who are so in love in each other and marry for it—Kasamatsu-san sure is lucky.

“Well. Isn’t Takaocchi also following Kasamatsu-san’s footsteps soon?” Kise smirks playfully.

“Eh?”

The waitress interrupts Takao before he can say anything else; delivering plates of yakitori, sashimi, grilled meat and seafood, as well as full glasses of beer.

“Smells good~ Thank you for the food!” Kise exclaims before taking a skewer of tsukune. Takao echoes the greeting, chopsticks reaching for a piece of kimchi.

“My diet is going to be ruined,” Kise whines, chewing the ground chicken skewer.

Takao cackles, “You don’t need to diet Mr. Perfect, you are handsome the way you are,” he underlines the compliment with a wink.

“Urgh. Getting old sucks, my metabolism is getting scary,” the model complains, reaching for skewer of chicken thighs, “That freaking Yamada told me I should meet you in a salad bar. Screw him. I am going to work my ass off at the gym tomorrow.”

“Don’t say that, you are making me feel bad. I haven’t stepped in a gym in months—I think I’m getting a bit of a belly actually,” Takao groans, glaring at his own offending midsection—he’s under so much stress lately and he barely has enough time to breathe, let alone exercise.

“I miss playing basketball,” Kise says mournfully, “I haven’t been to court in months, and even if I have the time I have no one to play with. Which is why…” he perks up suddenly, “I am so glad you are moving back to Tokyo.”

“Don’t count on me,” Takao mumbles, taking a piece of tuna sashimi, “Work and adjusting to daily life is going to be crazy for the first few months,” he shudders imagining it—he would have absolutely zero time for any sort of social life, probably.

“Also, what do you mean with no friends? Don’t most of our old teammates and rivals live in Tokyo now?” Takao points out.

Kise sighs.

“Everyone is either busy with work or family—I mean I am busy too but I always try to make it to gatherings and stuff you know? Even if it’s just to pop up at the tail end of it… We have tried to organize a gathering to play basketball on weekends, but most people couldn’t make it even then… So we just stopped trying,” Kise smiles sadly.

“Is that so…” Takao pats Kise’s hand comfortingly.

“I mean I guess it is to be expected that people move on with their lives, it’s just kinda… Lonely... I mean—I think I haven’t seen even a single hair of Midorimacchi since the baby was born.”

“O-ohh.”

“Even Akashicchi showed up a couple times,” Kise adds, taking a bite of grilled buttered scallops, “And he’s the… I don’t even know—it’s a senior position in his family’s conglomerate or something. Point is,” Kise emphasizes with a movement of his chopsticks, ”He is this hot-shot super busy businessman and he still tried to make time for it—but I guess that’s the difference between a bachelor and married man.”

Kise pouts, “And I guess Takaocchi will soon be like that too! Ah I want to be happy for you but I will be super lonely when you get married!” he whimpers dramatically, eyes getting teary.

“Eh. I’m not getting married,” Takao replies calmly, claiming a stick of yakiton.

Kise furrows his perfectly groomed eyebrows in confusion.

“What? Didn’t you propose to your girlfriend on Valentine’s Day? You told me she said yes. You even showed me the ring you bought—the one that costs 3 months of your salary!”

“The engagement is off,” Takao chews the piece of pork.

“What??? When??? Why??? How??? It’s only been a month or so!” Kise half-shouts, eye widened comically.

“Caught her making out with some guy,” Takao answers rather nonchalantly, reaching for a skewer of chicken skin on the plate next to Kise’s glass of beer.

“Wait,” Kise catches his friend’s hand, “What the heck? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Full story. Now,” he commands, grasping on Takao’s hand tightly, not allowing him to take the food.

Takao sighs, thinking about it is making him exhausted, but Kise looks determined not to let go of his hand until he spills the story and the chicken skin is losing its crispiness by the second.

“It was around a week ago or so. I got home unexpectedly early that night—a colleague asked me to swap shift. Well, I caught her with this dude making out in the living room—they were already topless and all, there’s no doubt what they were doing, really,” he tries to reach for the skewer again now that the grip on his hand is loosened.

“Shit. I’m sorry Takaocchi. Did you punch the guy at least?” Kise asks, looking sympathetic.

Takao shakes his head, taking a gulp of his lager.

“Nah. Too tired. Just told him to scram—he ran away with tail between his legs, still half naked even. Didn’t look back even once—I almost felt bad for Sera-chan, being left behind to deal with me alone like that. What a prick.”

“Then? What did you do?”

“Told her she could sleep on the sofa for the night, but I expect her to finish packing all of her stuff and leave my apartment by the time I get back from work the next day. Oh, and to leave the keys and the ring on the kitchen table.”

“That’s it?” Kise asks incredulously.

“Yeah,” Takao answers simply, “She might have cried—don’t know, don’t care. Didn’t bother listening—I should have been the one crying anyway. I just instantly crashed out after shower. I swapped the night shift for the morning one so I totally needed the sleep.

“Quite nice of you to not kick her out. I probably would, honestly.”

Takao hums, “It was late and the trains have stopped running. I didn’t want to put her in potentially unsafe situation.”

“Ehhh, Takaocchi sure is kind.”

“I dated her for 2 years. I cared for her you know, even if it turned out this way,” Takao laughs bitterly, “Oh well.”

Kise scrutinizes him before saying carefully, “You don’t look very upset about this.”

“I was upset, but what’s the use of dwelling on it? It’s crappy that this happened but at least I found out about this before we get married for real.”

“Takaocchi, I am honestly wondering if you are have a positive personality or just cold-hearted.”

“Ehhhhh~ I’m a positive person of course! Kise-kun is the one who is cold-hearted right?” Takao grins.

Kise pouts in mock offense, “Even I would be depressed if I get cheated on by my fiancée! I mean we are talking about the woman you proposed to and were going to marry! But you don’t look like you care at all.”

Takao shrugs “Can’t change the fact that she cheated on me—it’s better to move on and let her be with anyone she wants to be.”

They continue to eat in companionable silence—Kise seemingly lost in thought, Takao happily munching through the dishes.

“Takaocchi, you are not pretending to be fine right?” Kise breaks the silence, looking concerned.

“Don’t worry about it,” Takao laughs, “I’m fine, really. At this point I am more annoyed that they were dumb enough to do it in my apartment. In my living room. On my sofa. I mean Sera-chan and I have been sort of cohabitating for the last half a year or so—we share grocery bills, housework and cooking duties. But she didn’t contribute to rent and utilities bill you know? I was fine with it because I was thinking of marrying her anyway, but cheating on me under my roof is just… Just how much of a cheapskate the two of them could be? Come on—at least get a motel room or something,” he rolls his eyes.

Kise ignores Takao’s rant about his ex’s and her paramour’s cheapness, “Have you ever seen her since? Asking for explanation or anything?”

Takao shakes his head, black hair falling on his face, “We both know what she did and what I saw. There’s no need for explanation, really.”

Kise narrows his eyes, asking in a tone that conveys both curiosity and seriousness “Takaocchi, do you even love her?”

“That’s the million dollar question isn’t it?” Takao chuckles, seemingly amused by the question. He briefly glances at Kasamatsu-san’s wedding invitation before continuing, “Love is such an abstract concept anyway. I liked her for sure, attracted to her, and I cared for her—to the point I was ready to support her and commit to a life with her, isn’t it enough? Could that be considered a form of love?”

Kise leaves the question unanswered in favor for taking a big gulp of his beer—when he speaks again it is in a rather pensive tone.

“Have you ever been love Takaocchi?”

The color green flashes through Takao’s mind.

_(Has he ever been in love? Maybe once—once upon a time._

_Perhaps he first fell in love with a broad back and its beautiful form—jumping as light as a feather on the air, standing straight and staying true while rooted on its ground. Then with a flick of wrist—the fingers that released the ball from their grip into unbelievable heights, the fingers that gracefully danced on piano keys, long, slender and strong and gentle. Then with a tall lone silhouette, under the harsh neon light, drenched in sweat, shooting tirelessly with miraculous accuracy—that keeps going even as the sky turned dark, each swish of the net sounding like an offering to fate, like a prayer. Next was with a deep baritone voice—the melody that started with a curt tone, the scolding and nagging, until it resigned to its fate and into the fondness that eventually seeped in. Then with that stern face—scowling, frowning, awkwardness and embarrassment hidden by a hand, and a ghost of a smile trying to hide behind downturned lips before finally giving in, in time. Eventually it was with a pure heart, surrounded by thick walls, buried under a mountain of pride and arrogance and scorn, kindness that was concealed under sharp tongue and denial—even though it cared and it truly did care, though unconventional the expression might have been._

_He was in love, probably has never stopped—definitely should have, probably never would.)_

Takao smiles—a little bittersweet, taste of the first love he has gained and subsequently lost.

“Maybe,” he answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy MidoTaka Day 2020!
> 
> June 10th 2020, I managed to finish the chapter on time, yay!
> 
> Even though this chapter is mostly Takao and Kise instead... I love these two as a BroTP and I believe they would totally make the best of friends! Their interaction was really fun to write tbh. Although they are mostly just talking...
> 
> The monologue at the end though, I wonder if I wrote is as me or Takao, we both love Midorima so (too) much!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Next chapter will definitely have some MidoTaka interaction~


	5. Chapter 5

Divorce, Shintaro learns, is tiring—even when it is based on mutual consent and agreement. It is not really about the paperwork, that part is simple enough—almost too simple actually, both Shintaro and Miyuki-san just have to fill in a form and stamp the papers with their personal seals. That form is currently sitting right in front of him, on top of the desk in his home office, innocently waiting for his stamp. Once he fills in all the blanks, all he needs to do is taking it to the ward office, submitting it, and waiting for a few days for it to be processed—and that would be it, their divorce would be finalized.

So, no, the problem isn't the paperwork.

The first problem he is currently mulling about, however, is how to tell their families and friends about the divorce.

He and Miyuki-san have agreed not to submit the papers until everyone they need to inform have been told—but while she has informed some of her closest friends about the impending divorce, Shintaro has yet to tell another soul. He has asked Miyuki-san not to inform her parents just yet, because then his parents would certainly hear about it—he isn't ready for that. Miyuki-san has been very patient and understanding, but he knows that he needs to face the music sooner than later.

Shintaro sighs, glaring at his mobile phone as if it did something to aggravate him—he hates admitting his failures, but he can't possibly hide the divorce forever. Well, it can't be helped—he is thinking that perhaps he should start from his sister and go from there. Shizuka has always been very supportive and protective of him despite being much younger, and if any confrontation is to occur it would be good to have her by his side. He doesn't want to tell her the news over text or phone call, so he is planning to invite her for a lunch together near her campus—she is in her last year of university, studying to obtain her license at dentistry. She should be able to advise him on how to break the news to his parents—she has always been better at communicating with them than he is anyway. He sends her a message, requesting to meet as soon as possible.

Now about friends...

He keeps his relationship with his colleagues strictly professional and therefore he does not talk about private matters with them at all—there is zero need to inform them about anything other than work-related issues. He does not have close friends from his university and medical residency days—they were cordial, but Shintaro had the feeling that they were never entirely comfortable with him and his... Personality quirks. He has not been keeping close contact with anyone from middle school and high school in recent years either—he has been busy and so is everyone. Kise used to text him from time to time, but Shintaro often either forgets or doesn't bother to reply to his inane messages—the cheerful blonde hasn't sent him any message in months. He talks to Akashi occasionally, but it is mostly to ask for advice on his investment portfolio—Akashi has the best insight and Shintaro reaps the profit. The doctor is currently on track for a very comfortable life even after he retires, he can even retire early if he wants to.

Well, maybe he should just tell Akashi anyway, even if for nothing but for politeness' sake—besides, Akashi can help him judge whether or not to inform his other... Acquaintances.

Shintaro buries his face in his hands—now that he is trying to name the people important enough for him to inform about a life changing decision, he realizes that the list is very short.

Shizuka.

His parents.

Akashi—and that is with a huge question mark next to his name.

Shintaro closes his eyes and his mind flies away to the thought of a certain old friend.

If it was back then, when he was still in high school, Takao's name would have been there on the list. Even during their time in university his name would still be there—the younger man texted him often, they played street basketball together when they had time, and Takao would sometimes accompany Shintaro hunt for lucky items or just generally hang out together during holidays. Their campuses and apartments were over 30 minutes away from each other by train, but it did not stop them from spending time together.

But Takao...

Shintaro could barely say anything to him when they accidentally met in Osaka a couple weeks ago. He doubts that Takao would be interested in his dull affairs anyway—not that anyone would, really, but that is not the point.

How did they even grow apart? Shintaro cannot even remember—maybe that is just the way of transitioning into adulthood have to be, that people grow apart as they find other priorities in life.

It is quiet, too quiet—and it is lonely.

Shintaro and Miyuki-san don't talk a lot, but she has always been there to welcome him home after they got married. They do not talk much about anything beyond pleasantries and household matters. She often asked him about work, there was a longing in her voice that Shintaro should have noticed but didn't—not until his soon-to-be ex-wife told him that she wanted to return to work.

Ryohei arrived after around two years of quiet marriage, filling the silent house with his cries and laughs and babbles and it feels like Shintaro has something to look forward to again.

But he is soon going to lose that too—and the loneliness is starting to get overbearing.

He opens the bottom drawer of his desk and takes out a wooden box hidden in the back. It is a beautiful kabazaiku box—traditional woodworking made of cherry tree bark. It was once a lucky item—he bought it in Akita during a trip for a joint training camp and practice match with Yosen. His persistence in finding a box instead of the more common and traditional cylinder shaped woodwork—because Oha-Asa specifically mentioned a box and not a cylinder—caused him and Takao to get stuck in a sudden snowstorm in the middle of small town, without a way to get back to their accommodation because the trains stopped working due to the thick snow. Takao complained about it, grumbling that finding the lucky item was the cause of their unfortunate situation—Shintaro, of course, refused to acknowledge it and stayed true to his belief. Though rather unlucky the day might have been, it was one of the many times he was reminded of how thankful he should be for having Takao with him—the Scorpio somehow managed to charm the shopkeeper into letting them stay the night at the store. They had to sleep on the floor, but it was better than getting hypothermia and subsequent certain death.

They were punished with triple practice menu when they returned to the practice camp—even Murasakibara, who is usually apathetic towards everything, looked like he felt sorry for them. Takao vomited by the end of it, but he didn't treat Shintaro any differently—still sticking alongside him with a smile, although it was his selfishness that caused this predicament.

It is a meaningful box for him, and the items inside it are just as precious.

Magazine clippings and photographs of Shutoku's basketball team, the gold medal from his last Winter Cup, a meticulously laminated photo sticker, a cheerful-looking squirrel phone charm, and the particular item he is looking for—a button from Shutoku's gakuran that Takao gave him on the day of their graduation from high school.

There is a knock on his door—Miyuki-san opens the door when Shintaro answers, bringing with her a cup of tea and a daifuku.

"Thank you, but you don't have to do this," Shintaro says when she greets him and puts the cup and the sweets on his desk.

"Well, I'm still your wife, aren't I? Don't worry about it... Oh, what is this?" she raises her eyebrows at the spread on the desk.

"Ah... They are just... Mementos... From high school," he answers, running his thumb over the grooves of Shutoku's emblem on the button.

"Feeling nostalgic?" she asks, eyes skimming over the text on the magazine clippings.

"A little," Shintaro admits—and lonely, but he does not say that part.

"Best shooter of his generation... Shutoku wins Winter Cup... Wow, you have never told me you were such a good basketball player?" she stares at him, looking astonished.

"I don't see why it would be relevant. By the time I met you I haven't been playing regularly."

"But all these articles... It sounds like you were good enough to go pro?"

Shintaro grimaces, "I wanted to—I received scouting offers. But my father doesn't think it would be a sustainable career pathway."

"Oh. That's a pity."

Shintaro nods, eyes glazing over a photograph of Shutoku's team in their 3rd year. Takao, the team's captain in their final year, was in the middle of the picture—he was holding the Winter Cup trophy and grinning widely, his cheeks were wet with tears and sweat. Shintaro was on Takao's right, holding the championship ball—he only had a barely noticeable smile on his lips, but he could see happiness in the eyes of his younger self.

He averts his eyes away from the photo, because the longer he looks at it the lonelier it gets. Instead, he shifts his eyes to the button he is currently holding—Takao lied, nothing changes.

Miyuki-san follows his line of sight, "Is that a gakuran button?" she asks.

Shintaro nods, allowing her to take a look at the button on his left palm.

"Your high school uniform was a gakuran instead of a blazer? It was getting uncommon even 15 years ago wasn't it?"

"It was an old school with long traditions," he explains, "It was quite strict as well."

Miyuki-san chuckles, "Sounds like a suitable school for you."

Shintaro frowns, "What do you mean?"

She shakes his head amusedly, "Don't mind me. Speaking of uniforms, Shintaro-san, I wonder if you know about the tradition regarding gakuran?"

He tilts his head confusedly, "What kind of tradition?"

“Do you know the meaning behind the second button of a gakuran?”

Shintaro closes his hand tightly around the button—the button that used to be sewn on Takao's uniform, the second button from the top.

Is there any meaning to it that he is not aware of?

* * *

Shutoku’s graduation ceremony was held on a particularly beautiful spring day—the sky was blue, the wispy clouds were white and the cherry blossoms were in full bloom, gentle breeze carrying the petals like a pink-colored rain.

Midorima excused himself from his parents after the ceremony, asking them to wait for him at the school gates while he went to buy a can red bean soup. There was only one vending machine in the school that sold the beverage, and it was located at a secluded location behind the basketball gym.

The vending machine was placed flushed to the wall of the building, directly facing a cherry blossom tree—planted the year Shutoku was founded, the tree had watched over many generations of students. Unlike the other pristine cherry blossom trees on the school ground, however, this particular tree was tired and marked. Its quiet location meant it had seen many confessions under its branches, and when a couple was united they often christened the tree with their initials—those marks lasted over the years, even though the young love probably didn’t.

Takao was already leaning on the tree trunk when he approached the vending machine—looking at the ground quietly and seemingly deep in thoughts. He looked up as soon as Midorima entered his field of view, and then threw a can of oshiruko at him with precise accuracy—the taller one caught it easily.

“Nice catch, Shin-chan!” Takao cheered, grinning ear to ear.

“Of course,” Midorima replied primly, moving closer and stood in front of Takao.

“My treat,” Takao said, “Let’s toast!” he picked up a can of soda and opened it. Even though Midorima thought that it was stupid, he too opened the can of oshiruko Takao gave him.

“Kanpai!!!” Takao cheered, raising his can of soda and lightly hit the canned oshiruko Midorima was holding with it. Midorima didn’t respond verbally, but he drank the red-bean soup when Takao took a big gulp of his lemon soda.

“Can’t believe it,” Takao’s smile was tinged with a little melancholy, “High school is finally coming to an end.”

“That’s a given. It’s been three years and I have studied very hard all these years—I have never had any plans to repeat a year.”

“You know what I mean,” Takao rolled his eyes, “Ne, it’s been fun, right Shin-chan? Basketball sure is fun, can’t end our high school career on a better note, really—but school festivals and sports meet were also fun, right? I even managed to have fun in class despite it being so boring! I feel like we have experienced youth to the fullest every single day. Don’t you think so?” he beams.

“I live every single day with the intention of doing my best in every aspect,” he paused awkwardly, shifting his eyes away from Takao’s observant ones,”…but I guess it has been… Interesting,” he mumbled, his pale cheeks colored with a blush, ever so slightly.

Takao’s grin could have light up a room.

“Yeah. It’s been really really fun! You know, I think my life will become less interesting without you dragging me around…”

“I’m the one dragging you around?” Midorima asked incredulously.

Because Takao had been messing up his rhythm ever since the first time he introduced himself—changing his routine like nobody else ever did. The noise of his laughter, his non-stop teasing, and his overly friendly touches—all of them had become a staple in his daily life, changing him like what waves did to a shore.

“Let’s go, Takao,” the dark-haired boy imitated the other’s voice accurately, “That’s basically your catchphrase—and you have made me run around for your lucky items and chauffeuring you like a servant.”

“I have won every jankenpon fair and square,” Midorima replied indignantly.

“Yes, yes.... Just as you command. Ace-sama is such a handful.”

Midorima only huffed—not knowing what to say. He had enough self-awareness to realize that he was sometimes, a lot of times, selfish—he had definitely troubled Takao many times. He used to not care that he might have inconvenienced people due to this part of his personality, but with Takao it was somewhat confusing—it was like he felt sorry for troubling him, but he also didn’t want to stop doing it. It was like he wanted Takao to tend to his selfishness, but at the same time he didn’t want to hurt him with it—he couldn’t understand it himself.

Takao linked his hands behind his head, looking up towards the cherry blossom branches with a wistful smile.

“Thank you, Shin-chan. I will miss you, you know?” he abruptly said, solemnly.

“What did you just say? Suddenly saying nonsense like that…” Midorima grumbled, surprised by the sudden sincerity in Takao’s voice, in his smile, and in his eyes—the blush returned to his cheeks in full force, mirroring the color of cherry blossoms.

“I just wanted to say it.”

Midorima glared at him, jealous at how easily Takao could say all these words—there were also so many things he wanted to say to Takao.

All these unsaid words—they were clogging his windpipe, making it hard to breathe.

 _I, too, want to thank you_ —he wanted to say— _for everything_. He wanted to say it over and over and over again—one for every single time that Takao stood by his side. For all of the time Takao had spent with him—during practice, during basketball matches, during class, even during his own free time—even when he didn’t need to. And Takao didn’t have to do most of the things he did for him—waiting around for him after practice and matches, picking him up and dropping him off to his house, hunting for his lucky items—so many things he knew that he took for granted. Yet Takao did them all—even though he couldn’t understand why, couldn’t even fathom why Takao chose to spend time with him.

 _And I’m sorry_ —he wanted to say— _for everything_. He needed to say it over and over again—for each time Takao stayed by his side, tolerated him every time he was sulking, angry and all around being difficult. Takao had endured his sharp tongue, his unreasonable requests, his selfish outbursts—though he might have grumbled, he always ended up coming back with a smile on his lips and laughter in his voice. Takao could have left—he knew what his other teammates thought of him and he had enough self-awareness to understand that he might be a rather acquired taste as a friend. And yet, Takao stayed.

There were so many feelings in his heart—feelings he couldn’t even understand, let alone name, were bursting in his chest.

He couldn’t even vocalize words as simple as ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’, how could he tell Takao what all these confusing feelings were?

 _It would be lonely without you_ —his pride prevented him from saying it out loud.

 _I would be lonely without you_ —and it was terrifying him to the end of his wits.

Even when his Teiko teammates changed one by one—when their usual post-practice convenience store gathering ceased completely, when Aomine and Murasakibara stopped attending practice, when Kise got even more absorbed into modeling and eventually did the same, when Momoi turned quiet and sad and Kuroko even stopped coming to school altogether, when Akashi stopped playing shogi with him and stopped talking to him beyond giving commands—he had never felt loneliness so oppressive before this.

It was confusing and scary—all of these unknowns that kept messing up his rhythm, ever since Takao showed up in his life.

He wanted to say something—anything. Takao could decipher it for him—Takao had always known what he meant, sometimes even better than Midorima himself. But he was terrified, and he couldn’t say anything—even though his heart felt constricted in the most painful way, in despair, like regret.

Takao was still smiling, waiting patiently for the words that would not come—but it was a stalemate and he finally relented.

“By the way, I have a present for you, Shin-chan,” Takao broke the silence, reaching for something in the pocket of his pants.

“What?”

“Give me your hand?”

Midorima didn’t react, standing still as stiff as a statue. Takao chuckled, grabbed Midorima’s taped left hand, opened it, and placed a small object on his palm.

“A button?” Midorima inspected it closer; the button was a familiar one—dull gold and decorated with Shutoku’s school emblem.

“It’s our uniform’s button,” the older boy stated matter-of-factly, “What do I even need this for?”

Takao’s grin widened, “It’s Cancer’s lucky item today, isn’t it?”

“That is correct. But in case you haven’t noticed, it has already been well taken care of. My own uniform has buttons, in fact.”

Takao chuckled, “Well, then think of it as a charm! It’s mine you see,” he pointed at his gakuran—indeed, one button was missing, the second button from the top.

“What charm. That’s dumb. Why did you ruin a perfectly fine uniform?” Midorima frowned, offering the button back to Takao, “I don’t need this.”

“Just take it Shin-chan,” Takao said patiently, closing Midorima’s hand around the button, “As I said, it’s a charm!”

“And what use would I have for it?”

“Well~ We probably won’t be able to meet much in university right? Medical student Shin-chan is going to be super busy after all! You can hold it when you are lonely, then you will be reminded of me so you won’t be lonely anymore!” Takao said cheerfully and then paused—watching Midorima’s confused face before adding a cheeky “Just kidding!”

“You are an idiot,” Midorima huffed, but he put the button in his pants’ pocket, clenching his fist around it so tightly that Shutoku’s emblem was imprinted on his palm.

“Shin-chan,” Takao called out, voice strangely sounding strangled.

“Hm?”

“I—“ Takao paused, his smile faltered for a second, before returning into a thoroughly unfamiliar shape. He took a deep breath before saying, “I will see you around, right?”

“O-of course,” Midorima replied, slightly taken aback, “Oh, I have to go now,” he added—his parents were probably wondering what took him so long just to get oshiruko.

Takao waved him off with that strange smile, watching him go away without saying a word.

Midorima turned around and started walking—he could still feel Takao’s eyes on his back. His chest was constricted in pain, his stomach was in knots and his gut feeling screamed at him to turn around, to get back and ask Takao what it was that he actually wanted to say or to say whatever it was he himself wanted to say. Because perhaps deep down he knew that Takao’s heart would understand his, and that Takao’s mind could understand the things his own mind was not capable of understanding—he just had to try harder, had to throw his pride and fear away.

But he didn’t—his family had been waiting long enough and they could not be late for that lunch.

The bright blue sky with wisps of pure white clouds, the feel of gently blowing wind on his skin, the distant indistinct chatter of other students, the blush-colored cherry blossom petals falling on their hair, the unfamiliar smile painting Takao’s lips—he saved the scenery at the back of his mind, cataloguing that smile under ‘unknown’, and kept walking.

* * *

“…Do you know the meaning behind the second button of a gakuran?”

“H-huh? No, I don’t. Never heard of it, I’m afraid.”

“That so? Well, it was said that the second button represents one’s most beloved.”

“…Beloved?”

“Yes. People use it for a confession—so when a boy gives his second button to a girl, it conveys the message that he thinks of her as the most precious person to him. So basically it’s used to tell her that he is in love with her.”

“…Love?” Shintaro repeats in a barely audible whisper—he opens his clenched fist and stares at the button on his palm in wonder, focusing on it as if it holds the answers to life itself, “But why specifically the second button? What’s the significance?” he still manages to ask—all those confusing feelings he has been repressing are coming back to the surface with full force, as if that one word is the key to unlock them all.

“Apparently it’s because the second button is the closest one to the heart—romantic, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes. Uhm… And this is common knowledge…?”

“I think so? I’m not sure, not many schools have gakuran as their uniform these days right… Even back during my time in school the uniforms trend had been shifting towards blazers. I’m not sure if it’s a universal knowledge, but I think a lot of people know about it. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing of importance,” Shintaro answers with perhaps a little too much haste, “I was just a little curious about this gap in my knowledge, that’s all.”

His head is starting to spin—he forces a small smile.

“Ah, but Shintaro-san, you must have been a super studious person—I doubt you have much time or interest in romance, so I’m not very surprised you don’t know things like this.”

Shintaro nods—barely listening to whatever Miyuki-san says.

He wonders if he can finally put a name to all the confusing feelings he held—and still apparently holds tightly. He couldn’t even give it away to the woman he married—it was buried down so deep, too deep that he has wondered if he was capable of it at all.

He keeps staring at the button—the second one from the top and apparently the one that represents someone’s most beloved.

Was it meant to be a joke that failed because Shintaro didn’t understand, or was it meant to be a confession that failed also because Shintaro didn’t understand?

What was it that Takao wanted to say before he stopped himself? Why did he stop himself from saying it? 

Were they also the words that Shintaro has been missing? The words he couldn’t say, the culmination of all the feelings he couldn’t decipher—or maybe he was just too afraid to realize what those feelings were?

He recalls Takao’s smile once again, the one that blooms on his lips under the cherry blossoms.

Was it of heartbreak? Did Shintaro break Takao’s heart and he didn’t even know it? Would it be too presumptuous of him to rewrite the ‘unknown’ he categorized that smile under?

Shintaro can finally put a name to all the confusing feelings he holds—15 years too late, a marriage too late. All these years that he has been protecting himself by not knowing—the selfish person that he is, subconsciously repressing his feelings because he was too afraid to face them, too scared to name them.

_Well._

If that smile was indeed of heartbreak, the least Shintaro could wish for is for Takao to no longer be in pain.

Three little words they couldn’t say, half a lifetime of regret buried deeply.

_I love you._

He closes his fingers around the button on his palm, yes, it does remind him of Takao—a reminder that Takao is no longer by his side.

Shutoku’s emblem is once again imprinted on his palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say this chapter will have Midorima and Takao interaction, but it was a flashback. Oops.  
> Gakuran button confession is such a cliche thing, but the unsaid and not-understood confession works here so I am glad that Shutoku's uniform is canonically a gakuran. Thank you for providing me a plot point through that, Fujimaki-sensei!  
> Also also this fic finally gets to a 100 hits! Thank you very much!  
> I'm a little stuck on what to do in the next chapter, so the next update will probably take a bit longer. D:  
> Once again, thank you for reading! Do leave me a comment even if it's unrelated to the fic, I love to spazz about Midorima and Takao! Did you guys see the new KnB merch line? They look great in kimono! Did you see Takao's green phone? Shin-chan's orange bags? How they glance at each other in literally every rendering of the merchandise? AAAAAAAA! Shin-chan's birthday is also coming up soon and I'm kinda writing a one shot for it! See you soon, I hope!


	6. Chapter 6

Takao Kazunari packs his life in Osaka away into cardboard boxes—ready to return it back to Tokyo. He moved to Osaka almost 6 years ago, when a job and studying opportunity came just at the right time—he hasn’t accumulated that many things throughout the years living in this city, and he hasn’t accomplished much of anything else either.

Okay, sure, he has gained invaluable work experience, obtained his master’s degree and passed the certification to become a CN specialist—but while he likes and is dedicated to his job, Osaka has failed to distract him from the main reason he took the plunge and moved away from all of his family and friends. He could try to lie to himself as much as he wants, but he knows the truth—it was to distance himself from the then engaged Midorima.

He naively thought that time would heal everything, even love, so he let himself stick around Midorima for years after their graduation from high school. He thought that maybe he would eventually fall out of love, would eventually fall in love with someone else. However, no matter how many women and men he dated, he always ended up going back to Midorima.

No—perhaps going back is the wrong phrase.

How could he go back when he has never even left? He might have let Midorima go, but he has never let himself do the same.

He is cursed, he thinks.

It was fine for Kazunari to stay as Midorima’s friend when the guy was single and had zero interest in romantic relationship of any kind—Midorima threw himself entirely into his studies after his father forbade him from pursuing basketball. It was fine when it was like that, because Kazunari could easily play the role of a good friend—supporting him from the sidelines while trying to squash whatever desire he might have felt for Midorima.

It was fine—until it wasn’t.

It began with an announcement that he was going to attend the omiai his parents arranged, and then suddenly Midorima told him that he was going to be engaged. Kazunari smiled and congratulated him because it was all he could do—the only thing he was allowed to do.

He accepted the job and scholarship offer in Osaka, which he had been mulling after for weeks, the day after Midorima’s announcement.

It was fine—Kazunari told himself then. It was fine—Midorima would be happy, should be happy.

After all, she was the woman he agreed to be with—if not love. Did Midorima love his fiancée? He certainly did. He certainly liked her enough if he decided to marry her, right?

It was fine—it was the way it was supposed to be from the start, Midorima marrying a good woman and building a happy family. Midorima had his life planned meticulously and this was surely part of that plan. Kazunari had always known that he never had a chance to begin with, had no place in Midorima’s future. It was fine—it was time for him to move on anyway, he had been holding on to those fruitless feelings for too long anyway.

He thought that he could start anew in Osaka—new city, new workplace, new friends, maybe even a new love.

He could be happy too.

It was fine—if he repeated it enough times, maybe he would come to believe it.

Maybe he hasn’t repeated it enough times?

Kazunari packs the last of his belongings, the little trinkets that he has accumulated over the last six years—key chains and small dolls, and generally useless items he bought on impulse on the days Scorpio ranks low. It’s astonishing, Kazunari thinks, how a person could have affected another so much.

Kazunari still doesn’t believe in horoscopes, but sometimes he could hear Midorima’s voice at the back of his mind, worrying about him in that tsundere way of his. He still doesn’t know whether he wants the voices to stop or continue, for it was the only way he could hear Midorima’s voice regularly, through this madness at the back of his mind.

What could he do—he is cursed, and perhaps a touch crazy.

He wants to laugh at himself and cry at the same time—it’s definitely pathetic that he is over 30 and somehow still so hung up on his high school crush.

It’s stupid—he throws a bespectacled bunny charm into the cardboard box with more force than necessary. But then he feels bad for the innocent rabbit—he takes a deep breath, picks the bunny up, and pats it gently, fixing its crooked tiny plastic glasses.

Honestly, he is reluctant to return to Tokyo—but after his father had a medical emergency, his mother has insisted. Kazunari’s father is fine now, but his mother still wants him to live closer to the family instead of 2.5 hours away by fastest bullet train, just in case.

If distance hasn’t even managed to heal him, surely returning to Tokyo would not help at all. Sure, Tokyo is a big city, and there is little chance that he would meet Midorima—but he managed to bump into him at an obscure sake bar in Osaka, so maybe fate has a grudge on him.

That is not to mention their overlapping circle of friends and the fact that they work in the same industry—actually, Kazunari’s new job in Tokyo is at the hospital Midorima currently works at. It’s a big hospital, Kazunari told himself when he accepted the job offer, and they work at different departments. Kazunari works at pediatrics and Midorima is at cardiovascular surgery—it’s fine, they shouldn’t overlap… Unless if Midorima is assigned for a pediatric cardiovascular surgery, and he could be, he did attend a conference for it after all—but even then, Kazunari reasons, it doesn’t mean that he would ever have to work closely with Midorima… right?

Well, in other words, he knows that he is screwed.

But it’s fine—Kazunari will make it work just fine, he is nothing if not positive-thinking, isn’t he?

Kazunari tapes the last cardboard box and stacks it on top of another, scanning the empty apartment for things he might have forgotten.

The chapter of his life in Osaka is soon to be over and it is time for yet another beginning. There aren’t many things he could bring back to Tokyo, but it is fine—it’s better than having to continue carrying things he doesn’t necessarily want to keep. Although his mind understands this, his heart seems to be too stubborn to change.

A month ago he expected to bring a fiancée from this city to introduce to his parents, but all he has now is news of his failed engagement and feelings he still has yet to kill.

When, he wonders, would he be able to close this never-ending chapter?

* * *

A couple days later and he has moved his whole life back to the capital city. Tokyo is the city he was born and grew up in—it’s massive and impersonal, but it is home.

The front door slams open the moment he rings the bell to his childhood house, his leg is soon hugged by tiny arms and a loud voice screaming, “Ji-chan!” greets him.

Kazunari bends down and then picks up a little girl with pigtails and bright eyes.

“Rena-chan~” he replies in a cheerful sing-song voice, “How did you know that Ji-chan is coming? Could it be…” Kazunari gasps, “…Rena-chan can see the future?”

His niece giggles, “No! Silly Ji-chan. Rena was upstairs waiting and saw Ji-chan coming!”

“Aww, were you waiting for me? Thank you so much. Where is your mommy, by the way?”

“Here. Hi Kazu,” his little sister greets him with an amused smile, watching her daughter clinging to Kazunari like a koala.

“Call me niichan, will you?” Kazunari teases, grinning widely.

“Never,” Minami answers haughtily and extends her arm, “Come Rena, it’s time for your nap. Your uncle needs some rest too.”

Rena pouts and shakes her head,”No, Rena wants to play with Ji-chan.”

“Ji-chan will still be here when you wake up, and you will be able to play with him later. Now, be a good girl and listen to Mama, okay?”

The little girl is still pouting, but she nods—touching Kazunari’s cheeks with her tiny hands, she looks straight at his eyes with bright puppy eyes, “Ji-chan will wait for Rena?”

“Of course,” he beams at her, “Sweet dreams, princess,” he says, letting Minami take her daughter from him.

“There’s tea and cookies at the dining table, Kazu. Mom and Dad are away and Satoru is at work, but they will all be back by dinner.”

Kazunari waves at Rena as she is taken by her mother to the bedroom upstairs—hers was Kazunari’s old room, his dull white walls have been painted pink and basketball posters replaced by decals of fairies and unicorns.

Other than that, his old house looks the same as ever—warm and welcoming, full of colorful and mismatched decorations that his family has collected over the years. The walls of the hallway leading to the kitchen and dining room are lined with framed photographs—childhood photos of him and Minami, pictures taken during their family trips, his parents and his sister’s wedding pictures, and in recent years tons of photos of Rena are also added to the collection. He passes by a photo of Shutoku’s basketball team before entering the kitchen—he stops by and smiles at the sight of his young self and his Shin-chan, side by side and looking extremely happy. To untrained eyes Shin-chan might only look serious and stern in that photograph, but Kazunari can still recognize the slightest quirk to his lips and the joy that radiated from his eyes.

Tokyo is filled with too many memories—how could he ever hope to move on?

He sighs, entering the kitchen with heavy steps.

* * *

Kazunari is replying to Kise’s cheerful ‘WELCOME BACK TO TOKYO!!!’ message when he hears his sister’s footsteps approaching closer.

“Rena-chan’s already asleep?” he asks when Minami enters the kitchen and pours a mug of tea for her.

“With difficulty—she’s super excited to see you.”

Kazunari chuckles heartily and offers her the steaming mug, “I feel so loved.”

“Satoru is going to be so jealous at how attached she is to you.”

“Ah, that’s just because she doesn’t see me often—I’m a novelty, basically. Of course she loves papa the most, right?”

Minami clicks her tongue, “She saw an action shot of you when you were playing basketball in one of our old albums, and since then she’s been thinking that papa is nowhere as cool as jii-chan.”

Kazunari laughs, “I can teach Satoru-kun some tricks?”

“No thanks, I prefer my husband without any broken bones,” she adds a spoonful of sugar to her cup of black tea and stirs.

“How is everyone?” Kazunari asks, resting his cheek on his hand lazily.

“Fine. But more importantly, how are you?” she asks back pointedly.

“Me?” he is surprised by her sister’s tone, but recovers quickly with a smile, “I’m well though? As you can see…? Hmm… I definitely need more exercise though. You know, I met Kise the other day and I told him that I think I am growing a belly—is it obvious? Can you see it through my clothes? I can’t believe I have let myself go this far. There’s a gym not far from my new apartment, do you think I should sign up or do you think I would just be wasting my money?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“But I am fine,” he grins.

“Kazu, I—“she sighs heavily, collecting her thoughts, “…There’s something I want to talk about... And I think it’s best I do it now while our parents are not present.”

“Sounds serious,” Kazunari replies, a little alarmed, he straightens his back and asks, “What is it about? It’s not about dad’s health right? Mom told me that he’s fine now. Is it about Satoru-kun or Rena?”

“It’s about you.”

“Me?” Kazunari slumps back to his usual relaxed demeanor, “But I said I'm fine. What is it about anyway?”

"The engagement..."

"Ah yeah. It was cancelled, sorry," Kazunari scratches the back of his neck.

"What happened?"

"We just... Don't match? We broke up. I guess we just aren't meant to be," he laughs nervously. He doesn't really want to tell his family about his ex-fiancée's infidelity—he wants to save her face and not subject her to his family's scrutiny.

"Is that all?" Minami makes a strange expression.

"Um... Yeah?"

Minami stares at him as if she is trying to read his mind. Her eyes are stormy, as if she's battling something inside her mind. She taps her fingers on the wooden table, a nervous habit that Kazunari recognizes well—he waits.

“I saw you,” she finally says, after a long period of silence, then stops.

“Hah? What?” he frowns, completely confused.

“I saw you. In Shinjuku Ni-chome,” her voice was barely above a whisper, but he can hear her loud and clear.

“Ah.”

It’s been years since the last time Kazunari has gone to that district—when did she even see him there? She must have kept this to herself for a long time, he realizes.

“That so? What was I doing?” he asks casually, deciding to play dumb a little, “What were you doing there anyway?”

“I went drinking on a friend’s birthday, she thought that we would get hit on less if we went to a bar in that area… Kazu, I—“she stops to compose herself, looking down at her own fingers on the table instead of meeting her brother’s eyes.

She takes a long, deep breath,”I saw you entering a love hotel… With another man.”

 _Well shit_ , Kazunari thinks, playing dumb won’t work then.

“Ah. That’s bad, isn’t it?” he laughs.

“Kazu!” she snaps.

“Minami,” he replies calmly, “What are you trying to say? Just say it.”

“You aren’t even denying it?”

“Do you want me to?”

He could have told her that she was mistaken, that she saw the wrong person—perhaps it would be easier that way, lighter on her conscience. But he is tired of keeping this secret alone—he has nobody to share a little of his burden with, and if his sister has to be the unlucky person who finds out, then so be it. They are close in age and have always been thick as thieves—although he kept this particular secret from her, there’s also nobody he trusts more than her.

“No… I—I don’t know… Kazu, are you gay?” she finally asks.

Kazunari smiles and answers honestly, ”No. I like both men and women, why pick just one side when I am attracted to both, right?” he laughs again, this time in a futile attempt to disperse the heavy air between them.

“Not funny.”

"Lighten up a little, Mina-chan. By the way, did you tell anyone?"  
  
"Of course not!" his little sister retorts abruptly, eyes blown wide open and deeply offended, "I am not going to out anyone without consent! Especially not my own brother!”  
  
"Yes yes," Kazunari responds, placating, "I know. Sorry. Hey, hey. Don't cry," Kazunari panics at the sight of her tears. He stands up to hug her, but she smacks his arm once she gets in his embrace.  
  
"Ouch. I'm sorry, Minami… Don’t cry…” he feels guilty—it must be difficult for her too, keeping his secret and worrying about him for so long without anybody to talk to.  
  
"I've been keeping it to myself for almost 7 years, Kazu. I don't know how to bring it up to you. I was relieved when you told us that you were going to bring your fiancée to Tokyo to meet us... I thought maybe I was mistaken, maybe it was not you but someone else. But just a couple weeks later you told us you broke up with her... What was I supposed to think? I started to wonder if everything was all a lie after all," she mumbles into his shoulder.  
  
"Minami, I wasn't lying, okay? I was planning to introduce her to you and our parents but we broke up," he pats her back to soothe her,  
  
"Why? What did you do?" she replies, an accusatory tone on her voice that doesn’t sit well with Kazunari.  
  
"Wait. Why does it have to be something that I did?" Kazunari lets her go and clicks his tongue, "Have more faith in your oniichan will you?"  
  
"Because the problem always lies with you."

"Me? How is it always my fault? I was never the one who asked to break up? I have never been unfaithful either—never, not even once."  
  
"Well. It's not like you have ever loved any of them either."  
  
"... And how do you know that for sure?" he retorts—she is correct, of course, but he isn’t going to admit to that easily.  
  
"Women have intuition you know," Minami squirms uncomfortably, now she is the one who’s looking guilty all of a sudden.  
  
Kazunari narrows his eyes in suspicion, “Have you been gossiping about me with my exes?"  
  
"Only Sayuri-chan! She is a close friend," she admits, defensively.  
  
"Okay. Wow. I see. How is Sayuri-chan doing?"  
  
"She got married last year."  
  
"Good for her," Kazunari says, smiling kindly.  
  
"She said..." Minami begins hesitantly, gripping the sleeves of Kazunari’s long sleeved shirt, "She said that you are a nice person. A gentleman. You were always kind to her and took care of her well. You were the perfect boyfriend. But... She could tell that your heart was somewhere else. She said that she really loved you, but she couldn't make you fall in love with her, and that's why she broke up with you. It took her awhile to move on... She said that, unlike you, her husband was far from perfect… But he loved her, that’s why she married him."  
  
"I'm sorry," Kazunari sighs, feeling guilty. Sayuri is one of his sister friends, she is a very nice woman and he tried his best to make their relationship work—he really did, but in the end he just couldn't.  
  
"The heart wants what it wants, Kazu. I can blame you for leading her on—and I did, we had a fight about it didn’t we? But I know that I can’t fault you for your lack of feelings for her… But she's happy now and I'm still concerned about you... What is it that you are looking for?"  
  
"I'm such a bad brother aren't I? To make my cute little sister this worried about me... Ahh. No wonder you won't call me oniichan," Kazunari laughs, trying to dodge the question.

He knows that he can't get what he wants, so what is the use of telling his little sister about it?  
  
"Kazu," Minami dares to stare at him right in the eyes, "I just want you to talk to me... If it's a man whom you love, I can help you to talk about it with mom and dad if you want to pursue a relationship with him…"  
  
"It's not that simple, Minami."  
  
"Kazu, are you planning to be living a lie forever? If you end up marrying a woman you don't love, you are only going to hurt her and yourself in the process."  
  
"Even if I don't ever get married, it doesn't mean I can't be happy on my own, right?"  
  
"But you aren't happy on your own! I can tell! Kazu... We have always been close. I know you. I haven't been confronting you because I respect your privacy, but you come this close to marrying someone you don't love and I don't want you to make a mistake. Please talk to me... Tell me what I could do to help."  
  
"Thank you, but there is nothing you can do, Minami..." Kazunari's smile is bitter, "It's my problem and I will deal with it on my own."  
  
Silence falls between the siblings, as the sister struggles with herself about what she is about to say, debating whether she should say anything at all.  
  
"It's Midorima-kun, isn't it," Minami whispers, biting her lip nervously, but her eyes are determined.  
  
Kazunari freezes. How did she—  
  
"Minami..." there is a warning in Kazunari's tone, but his little sister pushes on.  
  
"It has always been Midorima-kun for you Kazu, right? I have always thought that it was weird how your life revolved around him... No one does that for a mere friend. I ignored it at first because I thought you were straight—I mean you have had girlfriends before… But then I saw the man you were with in Ni-chome... He was like a pale imitation of Midorima-kun..."  
  
"That's rude, Mina-chan.”

"Tell me I am wrong, I dare you," she glares at him, lifting her chin in defiance, "Tell me you weren't with him just because he reminded you of Midorima-kun."

"He is a nice man,” although to be honest, Kazunari doesn’t even remember his name, “It's unfair to reduce him to that."  
  
"Kazu…"  
  
"Minami, even if I was in love with Midorima, even if I am still in love with Midorima... What do you want me to do?" Kazunari laughs again, without humor, "He's married and a father, just like your husband. What would you do if Satoru-kun was Midorima? What would you think of me? What would you want me to do?"  
  
Minami looks down to the floor, clenching her fists and not saying anything.  
  
"You would think that I was disgusting."  
  
"Kazu!" she snaps her head up and her teary eyes are filled with horror at hearing his words, "I would never think of you as—"  
  
"That's only because I'm your brother and you love me. What if I was a stranger? Anybody would think that I was disgusting, if not because I was attracted to a man then because the man I was attracted to is happily married and a father at that... And I… I couldn't blame them for that."

Kazunari smiles like he always does, but it does nothing to hide the pain in his eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," his sister sobs, reaching for his hand and holding it tightly. It is bad enough to have an unrequited love, but having one that is impossible from the start is even worse.

"No. I'm sorry. I have made you worry a lot... Come on, stop crying," he hugs her again and pats her hair comfortingly, the way he used to when they were young and unburdened—when their only concern was scraped knees and not forbidden feelings.  
  
"If there is anything I could do..."  
  
"Thank you, but I need to deal with it on my own. Your brother is strong, you know that!" Kazunari says, reassuringly.

Minami tightens the arms around her brother’s body and rests her head on his shoulder.

“Kazu, I just want you to know that I will always have your back no matter what.”

Kazunari strokes her hair and smiles—thankful for her unconditional acceptance, and really, isn’t that the most important thing she could have given him?

* * *

Takao returns to his new apartment the next morning in way too small t-shirt and way too tight pants—they are his brother-in-law's, who is thin and wiry and certainly not the same size as him. His own clothes are in a plastic bag, drenched in orange juice courtesy of Rena-chan who accidentally pushed the whole jug off the dining table during breakfast—Takao managed to catch the glass jug before it fell to the floor, but his clothes became the victim in that process.

The pants are way too short, Takao might look rather tiny among his basketball player friends, but his height is above average compared to most Japanese men and he has grown taller ever since his first year of high school, thank you very much. The pants are also too tight for his rear and thighs, which are built very nicely courtesy of dragging around his giant teammate on a bicycle cart. The t-shirt is the same—too tight. Takao might have not visited the gym in the last stressful couple of months but he still maintains the physique of an athlete—wide shoulders and broad back and muscled arms, solid from years of regular training regimen. Satoru-kun, on the other hand, is a homebody his whole life and is therefore built very differently. His outfit feels very uncomfortable—it almost feels like one wrong move and the clothes would just rip all over.

He wasn't planning to stay over at his family's home and therefore he didn't bring a change of clothes—but Rena-chan wouldn't stop crying after he told her that he would be going home, so he relented and stayed the night. He would have waited and washed his soaked clothes at his parents' house had he not promised to meet the landlord this morning—but he did, and the landlord is a busy and impatient man.

The old businessman is planning to sell one of the unit he owns, not the one 1 bedroom Takao is currently renting, but a bigger unit with 3 bedrooms. Takao expressed interest in purchasing, so he was invited to join the inspection the landlord has scheduled with another potential buyer.  
  
Well, the apartment may too big for him alone right now, but perhaps in the future he will find someone to share his life with. He had a good feeling about this new apartment complex the moment he visited it for home hunting a few months ago, when he decided to move back to Tokyo—it’s not luxurious, but it is a good looking, clean and cozy building. It was recently renovated, updated with modern design, utilities and appliances, the facilities are good and the floor-plan is surprisingly spacious for its inner city location. It is also located close to the station and is not too far from work that he can actually bike or walk there if he wants to. He hasn't met any of his new neighbors yet, but he heard that most of them are young professionals around his age, so he hopes to get along well with them.  
  
Takao dashes from the station to his apartment and prays that nothing rips due to his vigorous movement. The landlord said that he would drop by at around 10 and it was already 9.45—Takao can’t be late, he wants to make a good impression. He wants the rather uptight landlord to think that he is responsible and is able to pay the mortgage on time.  
  
He arrived at his apartment 5 minutes before 10 and the landlord hasn't arrived yet—thank goodness. He quickly tries to find the cardboard box where his clean clothes are in—he hasn't completely unpacked everything yet—and is ruffling through the boxes when the doorbell rings.  
  
Damn it. At least he hasn’t undressed and is still completely clothed, even if the clothes are a few sizes too small.  
  
"Yes!" he calls out cheerfully, schooling his face into its default friendly smile instead of the slight annoyance he is currently feeling due to his outfit circumstances, and opens the door.  
  
"Takao-san, good morning," the landlord greets him—but Takao barely pays any attention to him.  
  
He barely even registered the landlord, because the moment he opened the door he was distracted by something, someone, else. Whom he instantly noticed was the man standing awkwardly behind the landlord—a tall and slim man, wearing crisp white button down and a pair of immaculately tailored and pressed pants, prescription glasses is perched on his nose and his green hair is neatly styled. Takao froze and so did Midorima, eyes comically widening behind his glasses—Takao wanted to laugh at the sight, but he was too shocked to do that.  
  
"...Takao-san?"  
  
"Ah yes. Good morning," Takao greets the landlord back awkwardly. The landlord raises his eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed at his manners—then he glances at his tight and lame anime T-shirt, eyes decidedly disapproving.  
  
"Hm. Yes. Well,” the landlord clears his throat, “We are ready to visit the unit, but first let me introduce you to the other prospective buyer who kindly allowed me to invite you for the inspection. Takao-san, this is Midorima-sensei," the old man smiles slightly, "He is a surgeon at the University of Tokyo Hospital."  
  
"Ah. Yes, uh, hello, uh, Mido—um. Midorima-sensei. I'm—"  
  
Should he introduce himself? Midorima certainly knows who he is—he couldn’t possibly have forgotten him in the span of barely 3 weeks since their accidental meeting in Osaka right? Should he pretend not to know Midorima? This is very awkward.  
  
At least it seems this situation is as uncomfortable for Midorima as it is for him, judging from the pained look on his face.  
  
"We know each other," Midorima says to the landlord, interjecting Takao's pitiful introduction.  
  
"Oh?" the landlord glances at Midorima in surprise, "What a coincidence! Did you know each other from work? I know Takao-san here is going to start working at the same hospital as you Midorima-sensei, only as a nurse though, but I thought he hasn't started yet," the old man scrunches his nose in distaste when he mentioned Takao’s profession dismissively.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Now it's Midorima's turn to look surprised again, he fixes his eyes on Takao's sheepish face, "Uh... T-Takao. Is that true? Mmm... Y-you didn't tell me—“  
  
Now Midorima is starting to look hurt, eyes subdued and lips downturned. Why though? Why would he care that Takao was moving back to Tokyo? What difference would it make whether he told him or not? They have kept very minimal contact since Takao moved to Osaka—heck, Takao talks to Midorima’s little sister through social media more often than the he talks to Midorima. Takao's mind is working overtime to process all this.  
  
"Ahahahahaha. Yeah. Uh... Yeah. I... Uh. Forgot?" he cringes at his own excuses. He has never planned to inform Midorima about anything—in fact he hoped that they would never bump to each other at work, let alone outside of it.  
  
Lady luck begs to differ, it seems.  
  
"Heh. Not from work then? Then how did you know each other? You two don't look like you run in the same circle." The landlord glances at Takao suspiciously and laughs mockingly.  
  
Oh.  
  
Was that meant to be an insult? Does the old man think that Takao is so far beneath Midorima that they can't possibly be friends?

Takao seethes inwardly—certainly, his middle-class family upbringing cannot compare to the Midorima’s family's wealth, but Takao has worked hard to get to where he is and he is proud of his achievements. He was educated in good universities and has a respectable job—sure, he is no surgeon, but he has a master's degree in nursing that he completed on a scholarship. Sure, his salary cannot compare to Midorima's, but it is a respectable amount and he has a healthy bank account with smart investments he has made here and there.

He is aware that the landlord has been looking down on him ever since he told him about his profession—the old man seems to think that nursing is a female's job, and therefore should be beneath him as a male. But he chose his job because he wants it, not because he is not good enough to be a physician—but because he wants to help and care for patients directly, to connect with them and make a positive impact to their lives in a difficult situation. He will not let an old man with outdated way of thinking make him feel bad about his job.

He is aware that the landlord has been skeptical of his financial ability when he expressed his interest at purchasing the apartment unit, as if he could not possibly pay the mortgage.

Takao has been ignoring the landlord’s attitude so far, confident in his own choices and abilities.

But, is this really how other people see him? So people do think he is never good enough for Midorima? Not good enough even just to be his friend?

It is quite a blow to his self-esteem, honestly.

Takao laughs, saccharine sweet. Midorima glances at him nervously, understanding that it isn’t a happy sound, understanding that Takao uses laughter as a shield.

"We went to the same high school. Midorima-sensei here has always been a genius in every aspect."  
  
"Oh. Indeed Midorima-sensei is distinguished huh! Midorima-sensei, I heard that you are also well connected to the heir of Akashi Corporation? Is it true?"  
  
Akashi?

Takao should have guessed that the landlord would think that only people at Akashi's caliber could be friends with Midorima. It seems like Takao would never reach Akashi's level—not as a high school basketball player, not as a member of society. Never—he could only ever watch Akashi's back as he stands beside Midorima, nails digging into his palms as he acknowledges their superiority. Suddenly he feels like he was in high school again—watching Akashi effortlessly crushed his months of hard work with Midorima, watching Akashi executed the pass he perfected through months of blood, sweat and tears.  
  
"Akashi is a friend," Midorima answers, then he glances at Takao, a blush rising on his pale cheeks, "...so is Takao. Takao is... A really good friend."  
  
Takao raises his eyebrows, surprised at the rather sentimental admission. It was nice to hear Midorima calling him a friend, for once.  
  
"Ehhhhh? I thought Midorima-sensei has only ever thought of me as a servant? So I've been upgraded then? Thank you, I'm touched," Takao does a shallow bow to tease the taller man, enjoying Midorima's obvious discomfort.  
  
The landlord sneers, "Servant? Well if the shoe fits..."  
  
Takao's playful grin falls—what did he do to make the landlord dislike him this much, he wonders. He has been back in Tokyo for like two whole days—he can't think of anything he has done that could have pissed him off this badly.  
  
"I... I didn't mean it," Midorima quickly stutters, "Takao. I was..."  
  
...a child. A dumb, emotionally constipated, and a total tsundere child—Takao fills in the blanks. High school Takao also understood that—he might have been annoyed that he was called a servant, but he laughed the offense away because he knew that Midorima cared for him in his own strange way. He was fine with it—he would have left Midorima alone if he wasn't.  
  
Midorima's slightly panicked voice is filled with such sincerity that Takao can't help but to get astonished. The emerald orbs behind the thick glasses are staring straight at him, the pupils shaking with nerves, but they are honest—and Takao has always been able to tell the difference.  
  
Screw the landlord, Takao doesn't give a fuck about what that old man thinks of him.  
  
"I know," Takao smiles gently, fondly, reassuring.  
  
A slight blush colors Midorima's cheeks, and a barely noticeable smile quirks the corners of his lips—it’s beautiful, Takao thinks, admiring the miniscule curvature.  
  
It suddenly feels like he is still that 18 years old boy, who was standing under that cherry blossom tree, mesmerized by the sight of the same pink blush blooming on pale cheeks...

Will he ever be able close this chapter? It is beyond doubt that he is cursed, Takao thinks.

It’s fine—maybe if he repeats that enough times he will be fine, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I passed 20k words and they aren't even holding hands. Slow burn is slow. This chapter took quite a while to write, but it is longer than the previous ones so I hope it's fine... Not completely happy with it, but oh well. At least they meet again! Yay to that! Takao is wearing a dumb t-shirt and super tight pants, but I think Midorima would have enjoyed the view so it's not a complete loss. They will see each other more often after this, hopefully.
> 
> I have always had the headcanon that Takao and Midorima are very close to their respective younger sisters, I have always wished we could have gotten a glimpse of them in the canon but it was not to be. Takao's sister is only a couple years younger than him in this fic, which is also my headcanon. This chapter and the next should be titled a talk with sisters because Midorima's sister will show up at next chapter lol. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always. Your kudos and comments energizes me and keeps me going! 
> 
> Shin-chan's birthday is coming up in a few days and I'm super excited~ I'm going to get his birthday set! I hope the official art is pretty~ See you soon hopefully!


End file.
